ON the way to Yenan-Gyaung the river races and swirls under the high clififs so furiously, that often a launch at her greatest speed can make no progress. The clififs are of a worn and romantic beauty, the home of sand-martins which fly and circle unceasingly in the light ; of secret orioles ; of a gracious and tender-hued acacia-; of pink and crimson convolvuli, which trail like a rich carpet from th window of a rejoicing citizen ; and of groups of trees with twisted white trunks and wind-driven foliage, like Roman pines, where they cluster on the cliff tops. There is no note of the tropics in this scene. The full bounty of the season does no more than to keep it green ; and in the dry weather all is parched and arid as the desert.
I come upon the village of Gya, built upon the green slope of a hill, a smiling interlude in the great procession of the clififs. It overlooks a sheltered cove, which is made by the arrival here of a freshet ; a brawling and turbulent creature for brief moments of its life, but commonly moribund or dry. Like all of its kind, it has marked out for itself a territory far greater than it can fill.
vol. i. 321 yvol. i. 321 y